So I had this brilliant idea.
I called the singles' Shabbaton organizer (see details below about last weekend's Shabbaton) and told her that I'd like to invite some of the men and some of the women to my party this week. She called the people I specified, got permission to give me their numbers so I could invite them to a party, and gave me all the numbers. Pay dirt!
Among the people I invited were 3 women, 2 men I'd be interested in, and a few men that I'm not personally sooooo interested in, but they seemed nice, people change their minds, and if they aren't for me, maybe they'd be good for one of my girlfriends who would be at the party. Of course, I was also running the risk that one of the men I was interested in for myself would become interested in one of my friends. In fact, it is bound to happen. But I'm not one of those conniving people, like that. If they want my friends, then kol hakavod. Someone in this world should be happy.
Anyhow, remember that not one of these people have asked for my number, so the chances that any of them are seriously interested are slim. But, you know, I figured "maybe one of them is mildly interested, and my calling them will remind them of it, and grow the interest." My, how one will cling to the most tenuous of hopes. I felt so smooth for doing this in the context of a party, where they knew I was inviting several people and therefore couldn't assume that I was aggressively asking for a date. I was being pro-active, but not pushy.
Anyhow, I called them all today. Left messages for most of them. I did, however, reach two of the men in person.
One was the sweet-but-nerdy guy I sat next to during dinner on Friday night. The whole dinner. We talked for about an hour and half.
He did not remember who I was.
The other was the one guy from the Shabbaton on whom I had the biggest crush. The one I'd been flirting with, and who'd flirted back. The one who kept catching my eye during Seudat Shelishit, and we'd give each other an evil grin. The one I've thought about constantly for the past 6 days.
He didn't remember who I was, either.
If it weren't all so absurd, I'd be more hurt. But, thank God, I know this is not about me. I am very much a memorable person. I may not be gorgeous in the conventional sense. I may not be the most suave, or the best Hebrew speaker, or the best-dressed. But I am certainly memorable. Apparently, these guys found the other women memorable, too, so we cancelled each other out (and I don't bear a grudge. The other women there were very high quality people. I'm not jealous, just sad for all of us. Because most of them probably didn't get dates either. In fact, I know they didn't. One of my friends who also was there is usually a Veela, and no one from the Shabbaton asked her out, either.)
So it's not that this is denting my self-esteem, but it is denting my faith in the universe. In men. In the value of the 200 sheks I paid for that Shabbaton. Because, if you can spend a weekend flirting with people and eating meals with them and being your most charming, memorable self, and 6 days later they cannot match your name to your face, then this "shidduch crisis" runs deeper than I ever thought.